


Calm Chaos

by AlwaysRain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also Sam dated Ruby in the past, Castiel and Mental Health Issues, Currently incomplete, Epilepsy, F/M, Future Character Death, Heroin addiction, Human Anna, Human Castiel, Human Gabriel, Human Lucifer, Human Michael, Human Raphael, Human Samandriel, Human Uriel, Human everyone, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Terminal Illnesses, everyone is human, there will probably be hints at alot of relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysRain/pseuds/AlwaysRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel used to be a semi-famous concert pianist and vocalist. Dean used to be an honors student. Sam's blood used to be clean. But people change, and not always for the better. Castiel is mute and lives in a psych ward. Dean dropped out of school and became a mechanic. Sam fell for a girl who hooked him on heroin. They find strength in each other at the Clinic. Castiel speaks, Dean gets his diploma, Sam comes clean. Yet, there's always a calm before the storm. Life always gets complicated. Castiel falls ill, Dean watches Adam's mother die, Sam relapses. And when the end comes, Castiel's brothers can't leave well enough alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken Warriors

**Author's Note:**

> So! First chapter. This is still in the works, and I don't know how many chapters it'll end up having, and I'm sorry for any delays in updating and such. I'm in school for the next two and a half weeks, but after that, it's summer! I'll be able to post updates much more regularly during summer, I hope. I hope you enjoy!  
> Oh, and also, all the little section headings are poems which I will credit at the end of the work! Many thanks to the authors of those poems!

__

_Where words fail,_  
 _Music speaks-_  
 _But the music is your knife_  
 _And my heart is the sheet_  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------

On the first day, Sam decides he hates it here. He likes the owner, Missouri Moseley, but he does not like Missouri Carewell Clinics Rehabilitation and Psychiatric Ward. There is a woman down the hall who screams and a child in the next room who cries. The nurses won’t let him leave his room, the doctors won’t tell him what they’re saying to Bobby, and Dean is avoiding him like the plague. By the time Bobby and Dean are ushered out the door, Sam is ready to simultaneously collapse and tear down the building.  
On the fourth day, they let Sam wander the halls for the first time. As he watches an old woman smile with her granddaughter in the lobby, he decides that maybe rehab isn’t so bad.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean hates the Clinic. No- he hates why he has to go there. He hates how scared he is. Scared of losing his baby brother to the drugs. He hates how scared he is, so when he goes with Bobby to drop Sam off, he doesn’t talk to Sam. He doesn’t speak with the doctors and he doesn’t look at the nurses. After he leaves with Bobby, he cries.  
For the next five days, Dean refuses to go to the Clinic. He buries himself in car engines for five days. On the sixth day, Dean goes to visit Sam. He misses his baby brother. Dean gets lost in the hallways while trying to find Sam’s room again. A ginger woman carrying a violin case brushes past him. A moment later, Dean finds the right hall, but he swears he hears a piano.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

In room 113 there is a man. He is twenty years old. He has been here since he was eight. Once a week he sees his sister, and once a week he sees his brother. Sometimes his sister comes more than once a week. Sometimes his cousin comes to see him. Sometimes his other cousin comes along. A few times a year, his three eldest brothers visit him.  
When his favorite brother visits, his brother plays the cello. When his young cousin visits, his cousin tells him long stories. His other cousin brings him small delicacies and complains about movies. His sister- his quiet, loving sister- sits with him in silence. She plays her violin for him, and when a fit sets in, she sings to him. She combs his hair with her fingers and whispers poems to him. When she is late, she lies in bed with him and holds him until he falls asleep.  
When she is not around, there is no one to calm his fear, nor brush away his tears. His only consolation is music. He plays until his fingers hurt, and then he fights a breakdown. Every week, he learns a new song for his sister. Sometimes he learns for his favorite brother or for his cousins. On the week Sam Winchester arrives, the flow of the Clinic is different. That week, the man learns a song for Sam. He plays the new song on the sixth day and he writes it into his notebook. He signs it Castiel.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
 _Writing it,_  
 _It feels so wrong._  
 _But make it loud,_  
 _And make it long;_  
 _A never-ending_  
 _Love song._  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------

“No, I’m sorry sir, your brother is sleeping. We cannot allow you to disturb him.”  
Dean wants to pitch a fit, but he knows that if he does, he won’t be allowed to see Sam. He doesn’t want to leave until he visits his brother. “Alright, miss, I’ll wait. I’ll just walk around until he wakes up.” He gives the receptionist an award-winning smile.  
She flushes and fumbles the papers in her hands. “W-well alright, sir, but please don’t disturb the other patients. And please avoid room 113, the patient there is very sensitive.”  
“Sure thing,” Dean mutters, pulling away from the counter. There’s no reason for him to bother anyone other then Sam, anyway. He wanders the halls for a solid twenty minutes before growing bored. Dean finds Sam’s room again and peeks in the window.  
Sam is stretched out on his bed, one arm draped over his chest and the other hanging limply off the edge of the mattress. An IV drip is attached to his arm, cleansing his system of the heroin. His breathing is slow, but even. Outside the door, Dean fights to slow his heartbeat. Mrs. Moseley had called Bobby the day before to let him know Sam had had his first fit. Looking at him now, Dean wonders how he could have let Sam’s problem get so bad without even realizing it.  
The sound of a piano wafts down the hallway. Dean turns away from Sam’s door to listen. The faint notes have the same frantic, yet calm sound as the piano Dean knows he heard yesterday.  
“I’ll be right back, Sammy,” he says to the door before walking down the hall towards the sound. He follows it down three hallways before he finally finds the room it originates from. He look at the room number on the door- 113. So the kid in here is the kid playing piano, then. Must also be the ‘sensitive’ patient the receptionist told him not to go near.  
Dean moves closer to the door, which has a larger window than Sam’s room does. Inside, with his back turned, sits a black-haired young man who must be around Dean’s age. The patient is swaying as he plays the piano, fingers flying over the keys. Dean finds that he recognizes the song, though he can’t place it.  
“You don’t look like a nurse.”  
Dean startles at the soft voice near his shoulder and struggles not to curse. A boy, maybe fourteen, with fluffy blonde hair and sweet brown eyes is watching him. “Well, I’m not a nurse, kid. That’s probably why I don’t look like one.”  
The boy tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy. “Who are you, then? Why are you watching my cousin?”  
“Name’s Dean. I just… I recognized the song, so I followed the music. He’s your cousin?”  
“Yes, he is. I’m Samandriel. I read to him. How do you know Requiem for a Dream?”  
Dean suddenly notices the book in the kid’s hand and tries not to roll his eyes- of course it’s Shakespeare. “My dorky kid brother listens to it all the time. Reads Shakespeare, too. He’d probably get along real well with your Mozart cousin here.”  
Samandriel snorts. “Right. And do what together?”  
Dean shrugs, suddenly wondering why he’s talking to this kid who must be eight or ten years younger than him. “How should I know? Sam’s old enough to figure out how to hold a conversation on his own.”  
Suddenly, Samandriel stiffens. Dean realizes the music has stopped. Samandriel shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Castiel doesn’t speak.”  
Dean’s smile vanishes. “Shit, kid, sorry, I-”  
“No, it… you didn’t know. It’s just that Castiel used to be a very talented vocalist and concert pianist. He put his heart and soul into everything he did. And then he just stopped. He wasn’t talked since he was sixteen.” Samandriel looks into the room, where Castiel has begun playing again, a much softer melody than before. “Too much heart used to be his problem. Now it seems like he doesn’t have any at all.”  
Dean stays silent for a moment, suddenly feeling like he’s intruded into the black-haired man’s life. Samandriel seems to sense his hesitation and speaks again. “You don’t need to feel invasive. People often ask about him. You’re welcome to stay and listen if Castiel doesn’t mind.”  
Samandriel is holding the door open with his free hand. Dean shakes his head. Samandriel gives him a small smile.  
“It was nice to meet you, Dean. I’ll tell Castiel you enjoy his music.”  
“Ah… yeah, sure. You too, kid.”  
The boy slips into the room, quietly saying hello to his cousin. Dean notes how the music stops briefly and Castiel inclines his head toward Samandriel. The boy takes a seat next to Castiel on the piano bench. The door closes as he opens the book.  
Dean stays and watches for a few moments, though he can’t hear what Samandriel is saying. Something about the way Castiel’s playing has slowed and the way Samandriel seems to lean into his cousin makes Dean miss Sam.  
Dean takes a step back from the door, suddenly anxious to get back to his brother. The moment he steps away, he hears the piano stutter. Dean looks back into the room, only to find that the black-haired man- Castiel- has shifted closer to his cousin and begun to play more frantically. Dean shakes his head, walking down the hallway and turning left to find room 107, where Sam is. Before Dean can make it down the white hall, the door opens and a nurse steps out. Dean quickens his pace.  
“Hey! What’s wrong with Sam?”  
The nurse glances up with a confused look on her face. She looks back at her clipboard, then smiles. “You must be Dean. He was just asking for you.”  
“Why were you there? What’s wrong with him?”  
“Nothing. He just woke up and needed a checkup. You’re free to see him.”  
Dean brushes past her and into the room. Sam is sitting up now, without the IV drip in his arm. He looks up as Dean enters and a smile splits across his face.  
“Dean!”  
“Hey, Sammy.”  
Sam stands and Dean pulls him into a tight hug, ignoring the fact that Sam is already almost taller than him. Sam lets out a long sigh, relaxing as he lets his brother’s familiar presence wash over him. Dean pulls away, reaching up to ruffle Sam’s hair.  
“How you feeling, little brother?”  
Sam huffs indignantly, sitting back down. “I’m fine. I’ve got my physical therapy hour in twenty minutes, though. They like to keep us moving. They say it’ll help cut down the cravings. How long have you been here?”  
“An hour.” Dean snorts, dropping himself into a chair. “You sleep like a log, Sammy, you really do. I had to wander while you took a nap. Ended up talking to some kid about Mozart in room 113.”  
“What?”  
“I dunno, man. Kid was weird. I think he said his name was Samandriel. Some shit like that. The piano guy is his cousin.”  
Sam shakes his head, giving Dean a tired smile. “I’m sure ‘Mozart’ has a name. You should figure it out, especially if you’re going to start gossiping about him. His real room is right next to mine. I’ve only seen him actually sleep there once, though. Some girl was with him.”  
Dean gives Sam a strange look. “So?”  
“Thought you were curious.” The younger brother stands, pulling on a pair of scrub-like pants before taking off the hospital gown and replacing it with a t-shirt. “I hear him playing everyday, Dean. Naturally I’m gonna find out who he is. Did you bring my homework?”  
“Dude, you’re so stuck up on school.”  
“Did you bring it?”  
“No. I’ll get it tomorrow.”  
Sam glares at Dean, tugging on his white clinic-issued tennis shoes. “Dean, you’d better. Just because I’m spending the rest of the school year in rehab does not mean I’m going to fail my classes. Don’t forget my homework again.”  
Dean makes a face, a small smile on his lips as Sam walks out the door. “I’ll tell Bobby you miss him, too!”  
“Shut up!”  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------  
 _Twisted as a lie_  
 _Does grow_  
 _Beautiful as the life_  
 _We know._  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------

The undercurrent of the Clinic is regulated again today. Castiel plays his song for Sam, the new patient. There are unfamiliar footsteps outside his door. Not a new nurse, he’s already memorized what she sounds like. He hears Samandriel arrive in the hallway. Samandriel is soft and sweet, a constant in the ever-changing atmosphere.  
Samandriel doesn’t come in right away like he usually does. Castiel stops playing for a full minute to signal Samandriel to enter the room. When he plays again, he just picks out small melodies and harmony chords.  
The door opens. Brief chaos filters in before Samandriel comes to sit beside him. “Hello, Castiel,” Samandriel murmurs, and Castiel lifts his fingers from the keys. Samandriel’s voice is soft and familiar. Calm washes over Castiel. Samandriel opens the book in his hands, leaning a bit closer to Castiel.  
“Okay, Castiel. Ready?” He clears his throat quietly and begins reading. “A Midsummer Night’s Dream act four scene one. ‘Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed, While I thy amiable cheeks do coy, And stick musk-roses in thy sleek smooth head, And kiss thy fair large ears, my gentle joy.”  
Castiel senses as the stranger outside leaves. Subconsciously, his music stutters and gains speed. Samandriel continues reading until he finishes the play. It is growing dark outside and Samandriel’s mother is here to take him home. Samandriel sets the book aside and wraps his cousin in a hug.  
“Goodnight, Castiel. I’ll be back on Sunday with Balthazar. We can start Hamlet next.”  
Castiel nods, barely, and Samandriel smiles, picking up his book and walking out into the hall, where he takes his mother’s hand. Samandriel waves, and a nurse slips into the room before the door closes.  
“Dinner time, Castiel. There’s ham tonight, or fettuccini.”  
Castiel stands and allows himself to be lead to the cafeteria. His nurse walks with him through the line, takes him to his table, and leaves to help another patient. Castiel closes his eyes to pray. He hears two people approach: one of the sets of footsteps belongs to a nurse named LeeAnn and the other is a pair of large feet wearing new shoes. Light steps for such large feet. Castiel decides it must be the new patient in the room down the hall- rather, next door, if he slept in his assigned room. He raises his head and opens his eyes, but does not look at the nurse or the stranger.  
“Castiel, I’d like you to meet Sam Winchester. Today is the end of his first week, so he’ll be starting all his regular activities tomorrow. Why don’t you two get to know each other?”  
Castiel hears LeeAnn pat Sam’s shoulder and move away. Sam sits awkwardly, placing his tray in front of him. Castiel can feel the tension rolling off of him. He’s nervous.  
“S-so…” Sam stutters, then stops. Castiel finally looks up at him, and Sam coughs. “I uh… I’m Sam.” Castiel nods. “Castiel… right? Your room is right by mine.” Castiel nods again. “But you’re never in it.” Castiel shakes his head, fighting the urge to drum out a rhythm with his fingers. Sam sighs, clearly uncomfortable. Castiel finds himself reaching over to the end of the table, where a notepad is kept for him. Sam visibly relaxes as he scribbles a note.  
 _Yes, my name is Castiel. No, I don’t generally stay in my room. I prefer to stay with my piano. If you feel the need to continue this conversation, please state your preference of written responses or American Sign Language._  
Castiel slides the note over to Sam and picks up his fork, spearing a fettuccini noodle. He heats as Sam scans the note, keeping his eyes fixed on his plate. Sam straightens up, watching him for a moment.  
“I know ASL. But you know, it’s okay if you write. Or… we don’t have to talk… er… communicate. Not if you don’t want to. I just… how old are you, even?”  
Castiel flashes his eyes up to Sam, then back down at his plate. He raises one hand and signs ‘20’. Sam smiles.  
“My brother, Dean, he’s 21. I’m still seventeen, though.”  
Castiel suddenly frowns and snatches the notepad. _What have you done that’s so bad you’ve been stuck here at only 17?_  
Sam chuckles, dragging a hand across his face. “Uh… drugs. I got into some really bad stuff. Heroin, mostly. It got… bad. Really bad, actually. I started hallucinating and stuff and almost overdosed before Dean even knew. So I’m here for six months. That’s my minimum, at least.”  
 _You don’t seem the type. How did you get addicted?_  
“A girl, actually. Her name was Ruby. What about you, Castiel? Why are you in rehab?”  
Castiel taps his fingers for a moment before writing an answer. _I’m not in rehabilitation. I’m a psychiatric patient._  
Sam’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’re in the psych ward? Really? I thought you were here for… you know. The voice thing.”  
Castiel almost smiles, which surprises him. He doesn’t take well to people, and rarely even smiles for Anna. _I assume you mean the muteness. That is part of it. I haven’t spoken in four years. However, I have lived in this Clinic since I was eight years old._  
“You’ve been here for twelve years?” Castiel nods. Sam sits with a stunned expression. “What could possibly make someone put an eight year old kid in a psych ward?”  
 _It was rehabilitation, actually, back then. I am epileptic. The seizures started after my parent’s deaths when I was seven. Michael was twenty. He decided that the Clinic was best for me. Raphael agreed, and Uriel, of course, followed their lead. Anna and Gabriel were fourteen and ten, respectively. They were the only two who disagreed. The epilepsy never really got any better. Michael, Raphael, and Uriel never visit. Samandriel comes to see me more than my brothers do. I’ve gotten moved to psychiatric from several different factors. One is the muteness. There’s no medical reason for it that they’ve found._  
Sam glances up from his meal as Castiel pushes him the notepad. Castiel pushes his remaining food around on his plate, drumming the fingers of his free hand. Sam has calmed down, by far, and Castiel finds it strange that he has befriended this young stranger.  
“So… you have six siblings?” Castiel frowns and shakes his head. “Five?” He nods. “Michael, Raphael, Uriel, Anna, and… Gabriel. Right? Who’s Samandriel?”  
Instead of taking the time to write, Castiel signs one word. ‘Cousin’. Sam makes a small noise of understanding. “You have a big family. I just have Dean. Well, Dean and my half-brother, Adam. Adam’s only ten, though. And then we have Bobby. He’s… kind of like our uncle, I guess. But that’s it, really.”  
Castiel watches Sam. There is a fondness in his eyes when he speaks of his family, especially of his brother Dean. The only time Castiel has seen such affection is when Anna visits him. He reaches over for the notepad and writes four words, words he knows Sam will be happy to see.  
 _Tell me about Dean._  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------  
 _Though the truth does mingle down below  
Hidden from light, it’ll never show._


	2. Fallen Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Thank you for sticking with it..... Even though it's only chapter two. Anywayyyyyyy thank you!

_Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;_  
_Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see_  
_A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings_  
_And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings._  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_The vibrations seem to reverberate all around him, inside his mind and body and soul. Every note implants itself in his mind, fills him with warmth and comfort. He moves forward, placing one hand on the woman’s foot. She looks down at him, curled by her feet beneath the piano as she sings. The room glows golden from the setting sun, and the music drifts on the dust motes in the light. Outside, a shriek of laughter is heard. He pulls himself up onto the bench next to the woman and crawls into her lap. She never stops playing and she presses a kiss to the top of his head. Three children run past the window. He starts singing with the woman, and she changes her notes to harmonize with him. The lullaby draws to a close and the woman slowly stops playing, kissing his forehead again._  
_“I’ll always love you, baby; always and forever, my baby angel.”_  
_“I love you more, Mommy.”_  
Castiel jerks awake, tumbling out of bed with wide and panicked eyes. He hits the floor with a solid thud. His arms fly out reaching for the woman in his dream. His hand hits a stack of books; they tumble over with booming cracks as they hit the floor. He opens his mouth in a silent cry. The door opens. Chaos, a gorgeous Chaos, flies into the room. Castiel looks up and falls back with terror flooding his senses. Chaos freezes in place. Castiel curls in upon himself, shuddering. Tears stream down his face. Arms suddenly wrap around him. Chaos becomes Calm. A voice is asking him to breathe, but he doesn’t know if he remembers how. When the world goes dark, he watches Calm, but he only sees the woman.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean is pacing the hall outside Sam’s room. Sam is having a fit and the nurses won’t let him in to help. Dean can feel his tension growing as every minute passes. He’s at the very end of the hall when he hears it, the muffled thump. He jogs down the hall to his right, suddenly curious as a smattering of louder thuds drifts through the door on his left. Dean turns toward the door, hardly noticing the number before he turns the handle and pushes it open. He takes a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. The door closes behind him. Labored breathing from the corner catches his attention. Instinctively, he moves toward the crumpled figure on the floor.  
The black-haired man raises his head and Dean freezes. The deepest, most gorgeous blue is suddenly staring right at him. Dean nearly drowns in the panic he sees there. The man scrambles backward and collapses in on himself, mouth open in a silent scream, and begins to shake violently. Dean realizes half a second later that this is Castiel- Mozart, piano dude, the one Sam’s been talking about for two days. He suddenly remembers what Sam said- _“He’s epileptic, Dean.”_ and runs forward.  
“Hey, hey, hey, don’t do this. Don’t do this now, dude, not now!”  
Dean drops to his knees beside the shaking pianist and pulls him close. He sends out a silent _thank god I took that health class senior year_ as he turns Castiel onto his side. A tear drips off the man’s cheek onto Dean’s hand. He convulses twice, body rigid, then stops moving. Dean loosens his grip on the mental patient, who seems to have stopped breathing.  
“Whoa, man! Dude, you gotta breathe. Breathe!”  
Castiel suddenly fixes his blue eyes on Dean’s green ones and goes still. Dean finds an insane clash of complete bliss and utter panic there. Then Castiel’s eyes slide closed and he begins breathing again. Dean lets out a breath he doesn’t know he was holding.  
He carefully picks up Castiel, who is now lying limp, and sets the black-haired man back on his bed, tenderly tucking the blanket around him. Once Dean is sure Castiel will be comfortable, he reaches over to press the button on the wall and summon a nurse. He walks across the room and flips on the light switch. As light floods the room, he catches sight of the books that have been knocked over. He walks over and begins picking them up, mindlessly stacking until one title catches his attention.  
_Cat’s Cradle_ by Kurt Vonnegut is close to the top of the pile. Dean chuckles, glancing at the unconscious Castiel. “Should’ve guessed you were a Vonnegut type of guy.” He slides the old book out of the pile, opening the front cover. In neat, precise handwriting, someone has written a line from the book. _There is love enough in this world for everybody, if people will just look._  
A soft knock comes from the door before it is pushed open. A blonde nurse steps in, holding a clipboard. “Room 113 paged, correct? What happened?”  
Dean quickly closes the book and sets it down. “He had a seizure, I think. I figured I should call.”  
The nurse smiles, going over to Castiel’s bedside and checking him over quickly, with the air of someone who’s been doing it for years. “Good thing you did. He’s just fine, thankfully, but we have to keep everything on record. You’ll have to leave soon, you know. Poor thing should’ve been asleep hours ago, and he can’t sleep when people are in his room.”  
She shoots Dean a smile before adjusting Castiel’s position and leaving the room. Less than thirty seconds after the door closes, Castiel flips himself over, eyes now open, and begins digging around under his bed. Dean blinks in surprise.  
“I thought you were asleep.” Castiel ignores him. “Should you be moving this much right now?” Castiel shakes his head, closing his fingers around a small box and sitting up. As Dean watches, he opens the box and music begins to pour out.  
Dean glances around until he finds a notepad with a pen. He grabs it and thrusts it toward Castiel. “Look, dude, you were full-out spasming five minutes ago and now you’re fine? Sorry, but I’m just not buying it. Write. Tell me what the hell just happened. Now.”  
Castiel suddenly shoots him a disdainful glare. He snatches the notepad and scribbles two words: _I’m fine._  
Dean reads it and snorts. “Right. Sure. Look, man, Sammy told me about you. Epilepsy isn’t something you just brush off your shoulder.”  
_I’ve learned how to deal with it in the past twelve years. It is not your concern._  
“Castiel, you’re the only friend Sam’s made here in the past week. That makes you my concern.” Dean catches Castiel’s eye and swears he sees a flicker of happiness beneath the confusion. “What triggered the seizure?”  
Castiel clenches one hand, looking torn. After a moment or so, it seems he has decided to trust Dean. He resets the music box and begins writing.  
_I dreamt of my mother. On the night that she died. Of the last time I saw her alive. The music box plays the lullaby she composed for me. That night, my siblings were outside playing with my father and my mother was playing the piano in our parlor. After the song was over, I went to bed. Gabriel joined me not long after, and once I was asleep, Uriel and Raphael came also. Anna had her own room, and Michael was at college. That night, the east wing of our home was set fire to. It wasn’t electrical and it wasn’t accidental. It was arson. It killed my mother. Three days later, Michael and my father were arguing about her death. My father killed himself that night. We held a mutual funeral for them. My cousin Lucifer picked a fight with Michael. Gabriel was foolish. He tried to stop them. Uriel and Raphael had gone with Anna into the Sanctuary, but the rest of us were on the steps of the church. I was afraid for Gabriel and I went to get him away from Michael and Lucifer. I was pushed away and fell down the steps. The head trauma caused the epilepsy. To this day, only Gabriel and I know that it was Michael and not Lucifer who pushed me. Often I wonder how my life would be different if I had never fallen. If my parents had not died. But I haven’t been sleeping much lately, and dreams of my mother often trigger fits. I’m fine now, though. I recover from my fits quite quickly, save for a few dire situations. The music box calms me._  
The music box clicks off just as Castiel hands the notepad to Dean. He resets the box again and watches Dean’s face as he reads. There are bags under Dean’s eyes and his hair is rumpled like it’s had hands running through it. The faint lines around his eyes and lips are drawn tight with worry. As he reads, his eyes are focused and serious.  
Dean is neither Chaos nor Calm, Castiel decides, because he is both. He has, in his own way, seen as much tragedy as Castiel has. He is Chaos because of it, but in every other way he is Calm. Sam is much the same way, but Sam is Control. Sam has Anger, but also Regret. He keeps a hold on it all, and he becomes Control. Dean is more like he’s been chained to a comet and Castiel can’t help but be drawn to him.  
Dean looks back up at Castiel, his green eyes wide. “Your brother did this to you?”  
Castiel nods, suddenly unsure of why he’d let Dean know what happened. Michael is at fault for his condition, but Castiel still fights to uphold his brother’s reputation. He takes the notepad back from Dean.  
_Yes. Michael is twelve years older than I am. It was his decision to bring me here. I was allowed to continue my life outside, though, between the occasional fits. Only after I was sixteen and stopped talking did they force me to stay here permanently. They made me take speech therapy for a while, but I didn’t need it._  
Dean studies Castiel with wide eyes. Castiel looks up from the notepad and meets Dean’s gaze. The frantic beat of the constant music in his mind stills. They sit like that for a long moment, as if they are conversing in silence, before Dean suddenly looks away.  
“It’s late, man. I’m only here to make sure Sam’s okay. I should… I should go.”  
Panic suddenly wells in Castiel’s eyes. He shakes his head, clenching one hand around the music box and signing frantically with the other, but Dean doesn’t even glance at him.  
“I’ll visit tomorrow and see how you’re doing, I guess. Depends on Sam.” Dean stands, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So, uh… goodnight, Cas. Don’t forget to sleep.” He flashes Castiel a nervous smile before strolling over to the door, flicking the light switch on his way out.  
Castiel sighs, looking down at the end of his bed in the now-dark room. He writes two words on the notepad before setting it aside and lying down. _Goodnight, Dean._  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------  
_In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song_  
_Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong_  
_To the old Sunday evenings at home, with the winter outside_  
_And hymns in the cozy parlor, the tinkling piano our guide._  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Castiel watches the door apprehensively from his bed, drawing his knees closer to his chest, he looks down at the journal by his side. Every other day, he writes music into it, composing new songs to keep himself sane. Today, he's written about his childhood. He needs to bring the notebook to his therapy session later today, but now he is unsure if he wants to.  
It has been three weeks since Sam Winchester arrived at the Clinic, two weeks since Sam befriended Castiel, and one week since Sam told Dean everything he knew about Castiel. It's been three days since the last time Castiel saw either of the brothers, and four days since he officially met Dean after having a seizure. For the first time in as long as he can remember, Castiel has found himself missing people who aren't his family.  
Castiel picks up the journal to read what he's written, but quickly sets it aside as tears come to his eyes, trying not to get the paper any more wet than it already is from older tears.  
_I long to return home, to my home of thirteen years in the past. I know, then, that I have a place in this world, for then I am seven and loved by my family. I am not a burden. I miss it all quite terribly, and I remember it all very well._  
_There was one year, it was Christmas on a Sunday evening, and Gabriel's tenth birthday was in three days on the twenty-eighth- I remember being jealous because he had both Christmas and birthday presents. Michael, in October, turned nineteen. He spent most of his time at college, but came home for the holidays about a week beforehand. That Christmas Day, I sang in church. I had a solo, and then Anna and Gabriel joined me for a second song. The Elders complimented Mother and Father on our voices. We used to sing in church quite often. That was, of course, when we weren't traveling for concerts and recitals. I believe I went to more countries in my first seven years than many go in their entire lifetime._  
_On that Christmas, Raphael had been trying to convince Michael to help him with an essay all day, and Uriel and Anna had been arguing since Christmas Mass let out about who had more difficult schoolwork. Gabriel was attempting to sneak another truffle without Mother noticing. Father and Michael and Raphael set up a tree in the corner of the parlor, near the large bay window. We decorated it together on Christmas Eve, and Father lifted me up to place the angel on the top. That night, the lights twinkled against the window and cast patterns on the frost and fresh snow outside._  
_"Alright, children, must we really fight this much? Your mother and I have a nice weekend planned, lets not ruin it with arguments,"_  
_Anna and Gabriel stopped talking immediately, and it took Michael and Raphael a few moments longer. I remember watching as Gabriel shoved two more truffled into his mouth before giving Father a tight-lipped smile. I think he thought that if he looked innocent enough, Father wouldn't tell mother about the truffled. She saw, though, I know she did, for she laughed at the way his cheeks bulged like a chipmunk._  
_"Charles, why don't we sing together?"_  
_"A wonderful idea, darling. We can run scales to warm up. Children, gather round the piano."_  
_"Yes, Father," was the reply. I remember this night so well, even the slightest of details- quite like the loose string on Gabriel's shoulder. Each of my siblings stopped to pick up their instruments before joining Mother and I at the piano: Anna with her violin, Gabriel with his cello, Uriel with his clarinet, Raphael with his flute, and finally Michael with his oboe. Father's viola rested against his leg where he sat to our left._  
_Mother shifted her weight and gently slid me off her lap, combing a hand through my hair. "Castiel, why don't you choose a note to start us on? Boys, follow along until it gets too high, and then you can play along. Charles, love, would you get my harp? I'll let Castiel play on his own tonight."_  
_I remember Father squeezed my shoulder as he passed, and I ran my fingers over the keys before I played. Anna and my brothers began to sing along with the arpeggios, and soon enough father sign,and us to stop._  
_"That was wonderful, my children. Why don't we play hymns?"_  
_Mother gave us a gentle smile. I remember that her smile was heavenly, and I always felt the most at home when she smiled at me. "Castiel, we could start off with Away in a Manger if you'd play us an introduction. Anna, Gabriel, the two of you can play with your father on the stanzas. We'll all sing."_  
_"Yes, Mother."_  
_Music filled our parlor for the rest of the night, with the exception of the hour from nine to ten during which we opened gifts. Right afterwards, mother ushered us all up to bed and tucked us each in with a kiss to the forehead._  
_That is the home I yearn for. There were rules, eyes, and they were strict, we were disciplined and we were obedient, but we were not afraid. It wasn't abuse. We were loved and we loved in return. It was love that killed my father and it was love that tore us apart. In the end, it was love that took everything from me. I have never once felt the urge to love after Gabriel left, despite the fact that I do love my family. But I do not love anyone else. It troubles me that I have developed the urge to love again, and more so that the urge to love came courtesy of two strangers. I do not want to love them, but I feel the need to. It is unsettling, and though I cannot, I oft feel I must scream.  
_ \-----------------------------------------------------

It doesn't take Missouri long to read his journal entry. She sets it down and gives him a long, even look. Castiel swallows hard and looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap and pale even against the white pants.  
"Boy, it's been a week since we spoke. And Mr. Winchester has been here for three. Why didn't you tell me he was troubling you?"  
'Sam is not troubling me,' Castiel signs back. He never uses paper with Missouri. It may seem their conversations are one-sided, but they delve deep into his past and often result in her hugging him. 'I like Sam. He is not the problem. The problem is I do not want to like Sam. Or Dean, for that matter.'  
"And why don't you want to like them?"  
'Love is dangerous. It kills.'  
"Who taught you to think like that?"  
'My father.'  
"Are you sure it wasn't Michael?" Castiel's head snaps up. He watches her with wide, wild eyes. She raises an eyebrow, and he knows this look. This is the look that says we both know what's really going on. He hates this look. "You always give Michael credit for things he has no right to take credit for. I think you have placed him up on a pedestal, and that pedestal needs to be broken. Michael is not perfect. We both know why you are here." Castiel touches the back of his head subconsciously, avoiding her gaze. "Your father loved your mother very much. I think if he had not, he would be here today. Love did not kill him, the razor blades did. Michael blamed your mother, he blamed your father, he blamed love. He may have even blamed himself and your siblings. Or you. Did Michael ever blame you for their deaths?"  
Castiel shivers, but he is not cold. He nods slowly, fighting to keep the burning feeling from his eyes.  
"How old were you when he blamed you?"  
It takes Castiel a long time to stop his hands shaking just enough to sign an answer. 'Eight. The first time. It was my birthday, it was the day before the funeral. He told me that if I hadn't woken up in the night and asked Father to sleep with me that Father would have been with Mother when the fire was started, and that Mother would be alive. Uriel told him to stop, but instead he shouted, saying that I had been pestering Father too much and that I drove him over the edge when he killed himself.'  
"And what happened on the rest of that day?"  
'I opened my gifts after we ate Anna's attempt at a cake. She was normally very good at baking, but she was under much stress. She was expected to care for Gabriel and I, but she was only fourteen. She cried when she took the cake out of the oven. It was burned quite badly, and no amount of frosting covered it up. I cried too hard to open my gifts on my own, so Anna and Gabriel helped. Uriel stayed in the room with us, but he did not cry. He did not pay us any attention. Raphael and Michael were not home. They had left to talk with the minister about the funeral.'  
"You were injured at the funeral. You've told me little about it. Tell me now what happened."  
'The service passed without incident. Many of Mother and Father's colleagues offered Michael and Raphael their condolences, but they would not speak to the rest of us. I believe they thought we were too young. We showed the lingering guests out the door and stood with our cousin on the front steps. Anna soon went inside. She wished to see their faces once more before the coffins were closed. Uriel and Raphael followed her, but Gabriel and I stayed back. I was sitting under the railing, watching as Lucifer began to sneer and make snide comments to Michael.'  
Castiel pauses to wipe at his eyes with shaking hands. Missouri reaches forward to lay a hand on his arm. "It's alright, child, you're safe. You ain't coming to harm here. You take as long as you need to finish your story." Castiel nods, breathing deep to compose himself. Eventually, he stops shivering enough to continue.  
'They began shouting. Gabriel stopped throwing stones at birds and ran over to shout at them. He told them to shut up, to stop fighting. He said they were going to kill more of us if they kept fighting. Lucifer called him a name I cannot remember, and Michael told Lucifer to leave his family alone. Gabriel kept shouting at them, pulling at Michael's arm to distance him from Lucifer. I was afraid for him because I had seen Michael and Lucifer hurt each other before. I ran over just as Lucifer shoved Gabriel to the ground, saying he was a worthless child. I forgot caution and safety and I tried to fight Lucifer. Michael yelled at me, and when he pulled me away from Lucifer, I wanted to hurt him as well. Gabriel ran inside for help, but I was left alone with them. I remember screaming in Michael's face and telling him he could never fix our family. He slapped me. It was the first time any of my siblings had ever hit me. Lucifer taunted him. He accused our father of being abusive by saying that Michael would follow in his footsteps. Michael ignored me in favor of initiating a fistfight with Lucifer. I got between them and Michael shoved me away. I was close to the steps and I fell.'  
Castiel is shuddering, and Missouri makes small hushed noises. "Child, tell me why you are afraid."  
'Michael will tell Uncle if I am disobedient.'  
Missouri gathers him into her arms, shushing him and humming softly. "Child, you are safe with me. It has been twelve years that you have known me, and I have watched you grow, and I have seen your family. You need not be afraid, they cannot hurt you here."  
Castiel sniffles and nods, but clutches tight to Missouri's hand. She smooths his hair with her other hand. She has, over the years, become more his mother than his therapist. She rocks him in her arms, murmuring comfort to him. "It has been too long, Castiel, since you have let the pain be free. Let it free, child, and cry, and I will be here. And when you have mourned, we will speak again, and I will be here."  
Castiel allows his tears to spill over and the fear to dissipate into grief. He thinks of home, and for home he weeps.  
\------------------------------------------------------  
_So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamor_  
_With the great black piano appasionato. The glamour_  
_Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast_  
_Down in the flood of remembrance- I weep like a child for the past._  



	3. Damaged Goods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terribly sorry it's taken so long to get another chapter up buuuut here it is! I hope I can get you another soon :3

  
_I’m somewhere that’s darker than a starless night_  
_Created by all the pain I cannot bear_  
_Writhes bitter fear and pure sorrow_  
_Which I would not describe._  
\------------------------------------------------------  
Sam stares out the window, one hand holding tight to his elbow. The room is dark, but the moon is bright, and he watches as a rabbit hops across the lawn. He blinks, his eyes stinging against suppressed tears. He can’t tell if that’s a lump in his throat or if his Adam’s apple seems bigger tonight. He’s never quite felt like this.  
The past month and a half has been a blur of withdrawal symptoms and healing. Now, Thanksgiving is only a week away, and he hasn’t wanted another dose of heroin in what seems like ages. But that only means that his mind is clearing. And now, everything seems more harsh than it should be. He can’t quite believe that he, Sam Winchester, threw himself under the bus and became an addict. It’s a bit surreal, the fact that he was constantly under the threat of death and he hadn’t even realized it.  
What hurts more than the itching, burning sensations in his veins is knowing that he hurt Dean. He let him down. And not just Dean, but Bobby and Adam as well. Ellen, and Jo. Everyone who cares about him, he thinks. He let them down. Now, he just wants to be better.  
It’s strange, living in a place that houses the sick and injured as well as the mentally ill and emotionally unstable. Sam never thought he’d find himself here. And he’s afraid. The haze the drugs cast over his life is clearing, and with each passing day, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His body aches, his stomach cramps after he’s eaten, he shakes and bumps raise on his skin when he isn’t cold, but his mind only gets more clear. It hurts and it makes him afraid that if they let him out, instinct will drag him straight back to the drugs.  
Dean asks him each day how he’s feeling, but Sam never quite answers the question. He can’t answer. Because how do you tell your brother something that you don’t even know how to describe?

\----------------------------------------------------  
_I lost myself_  
_Deep within the fathomless depths_  
_My lonely soul drifts aimlessly_  
_Lost between the facades and falsifies._  
\---------------------------------------------------

“Sam. Sam. Sammy. Samuel. Sam!”  
The shout jerks Sam out of his thoughts, and he sits up straighter, clearing his throat. “Sorry, Dean.”  
Dean shakes his head, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with you, man? You zone out every ten seconds. Dude, you’re starting to freak me out.”  
“Right. Sure I am. Dean, you don’t freak out.”  
“Says who?”  
“Says the hundred-odd horror movies you’ve watched.”  
Dean makes a face and nods. “Fair enough.”  
Sam smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The truth is, he doesn’t even know what’s going on with him. He can’t find it in him to laugh anymore, and unless he’s faking it, he can’t even smile. It seems like there’s a constant weight settled on his chest and lungs, but his physical therapist hasn’t mentioned anything odd in his diaphragm. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.  
He bites his lip, frowning slightly and staring at the wall as he tries to gather the jumble of thoughts in his mind. Across the table, Dean sighs loudly.  
“Aaand you’re gone again. Seriously, come on. Focus long enough for me to say I’m headed home. Jo and Ellen are coming over for dinner and Bobby keeps saying he doesn’t know what to cook, so I’m gonna go help the old man.”  
Sam nods, standing up to absentmindedly receive his brother’s hug. “Right. Yeah. See you tomorrow.”  
“I won’t be here tomorrow, man.” Dean looks down at his feet and huffs, clearing his throat a couple times. He scuffs his toe on the floor. “I, uh, I…. I got somethin’ I gotta do.”  
“Oh.” Sam blinks. After a moment, he nods. “Okay, I guess.”  
“Yeah.” Dean glances around the room, then rubs a hand on the back of his neck and takes a step away. “I’ll see you in a couple days, then.”  
Sam nods and sits back down, casting his gaze downward. He loses himself in his thoughts again, the grain of the wooden table blurring as his eyes unfocus. The rest of the day is uneventful, and eventually, Sam collapses onto his bed. That night, he dreams.  
_“Sam.”_  
_The voice is soft, lilting, and he imagines it as faraway bliss._  
_“Sam.”_  
_It’s a bit more forceful now, but when he opens his eyes, he only sees an empty room._  
_“Sam. Over here.”_  
_He turns, and finally finds her. Long brown hair and dark, beautiful eyes. Soft skin and pale lips. He smiles, feeling almost weightless._  
_“Ruby.”_  
_“Hey, baby.” She slinks towards him, hips swaying and lips parting into a feral smile. “I miss you. You’ve been gone a long time.”_  
_“Only six weeks.”_  
_“I know. But I’m so lonely. I get cold at night in that empty bed.”_  
_Sam shakes his head. “You know Dean hates it when I stay the night with you.”_  
_Ruby runs a hand up his arm, pressing her thumb against the inside of his elbow. “But I miss you. I’m lonely.” Her voice is turning cold, and the light is fading from her eyes._ _Sam tries to pull away, but she holds tighter. “Why don’t you love me anymore?”_  
_“I do, Ruby, but I-”_  
_“You’re lying! If you loved me you wouldn’t have left! I’m the one who got you away from your wretched family. Don’t you remember?”_  
_“They’re not bad, Ruby.”_  
_“You said they were. Did you lie?”_  
_Sam frowns. “I was angry. I’d fought with Dean that day, you can’t just assume things like that.”_  
_Ruby clenches her jaw, allowing a hurt expression to cross her face. “You were broken, Sam. I helped you. I fixed you. I helped you numb that pain and make it better.”_  
_“You hooked me on heroin.”_  
_Ruby bares her teeth, eyes turning feral. Her voice is like razorblades and she digs her fingernails into his arm like claws. “You killed me.”_  
\-----------------------------------------------  
_I beg for my escape_  
_But I am not granted this wish_  
_The pressure bearing down on me_  
_Is impossible to describe._  
\---------------------------------------------

Sam is still shaken from the nightmare at dinner the next evening. He’s poking at the food on his tray when Castiel sits down across from him and signs hello. Sam lifts his hand in greeting, but doesn’t respond otherwise. Castiel frowns and taps his arm. When Sam looks up, Castiel tilts his head to the side and shrugs. Sam shakes his head.  
“I’m fine, Castiel. Go ahead and eat.”  
A moment later, a notepad slides across the table. _You are not fine, Sam. You are listless and seem to have no appetite. What is the matter?_  
Sam sighs and makes a face. “I… don’t know. I can’t describe it. Everything hurts, though, and not physically. I mean, physically, yeah, but there’s nothing wrong with me. It’s like…. I can’t really breathe, and I feel sick when I eat, and… it’s hard to sleep. I feel like I’m choking half the time that I’m awake, and whenever I see Dean I want to puke. I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep for six months. I want to get away.”  
Castiel gives a small smile. He takes the notepad and scribbles a short note. _I am obviously not a psychologist like Miss Missouri. However, it seems to me that you are experiencing depression. I struggled with it for several years after I lost the ability to speak. I also developed severe anxiety in that time. It seemed like I was always exhausted, physically and mentally, and that I only had the capacity for one emotion at a time. Does this seem familiar?_  
After Sam reads it, he nods slowly. “Yeah… yeah, it does. I guess I’m not going crazy after all, huh?” Castiel winces, and Sam bites his tongue. “Ah… sorry. Didn’t mean to phrase it like that. I forget that I’m here sometimes, I guess.”  
Castiel nods in response, and a comfortable silence falls between them. After they’ve both eaten, they walk the halls for a bit, conversing in sign language. Around eight o’clock, they sit down in one of the parlors to watch the news together. The third story is on a group of college kids were busted for possession of heroin. Sam frowns as he’s watching it and Castiel casts a concerned glance at him.  
“I… I knew them,” Sam says quietly, reaching for the remote. Castiel picks it up first and quickly turns off the television. He reaches for his notepad, but Sam shakes his head. “Don’t. I… I don’t want to be told it’s okay. I want to talk about it, though. I haven’t with anyone other than Missouri. I’m not ready to tell Dean or Bobby, but… you’ll listen, won’t you?”  
Castiel nods. He curls his legs under him in the chair, turning so he can see Sam better. Sam bites his lip, shifting his weight a couple times before taking a deep breath.  
“I went to school with this girl named Ruby, but in sophomore year, she dropped out. I kept trying to get her to tell me why, cause she was really smart and got amazing grades. We were in a lot of higher level classes together, so we were friends. But after she dropped out, she didn’t want to talk to me about school. After a few months, she promised to tell me what happened, but only if I stayed the night with her. Her parents were out of town and she didn’t want to be alone. So I told Dean and Bobby I was going to a friend’s house and I went. I trusted her.  
“She never told me that night. But we did decide to start dating. I started spending a lot of time with her, and eventually she invited me out to meet her ‘friends’. That was the first time I shot up. It was weird. I felt really free, you know? I guess that’s just what the high does to you. After that, I was with her every day that I could be. I stayed the night at her house more often than I stayed home. Dean started fighting with me about it whenever I came home. He never trusted Ruby.  
“Her parents died last December. I think she lost control after that. It wasn’t just heroin anymore. It was heroin, and cocaine, and ecstasy… it was whatever she could get her hands on. She would try to get me to do it with her, and whenever I said no, she would ask me if I loved her. She would remind me about my fights with Dean and she would say that she was fixing me. She would cry most of the time. I felt terrible if I made her cry, so I started taking things with her. When school started in September, I tried to stay away from her during the week so I could keep up with my school work. But it was inevitable, I guess.  
“I was at her house one night, on a Sunday. I’d been there all weekend, because I fought with Dean on Friday. I’d left home and went to be with her. We spent the entire weekend high. We fell asleep together Sunday night. It must have been two am, I woke up alone. She was sitting at the end of the bed and she was crying. I didn’t know what to say, so I tried to kiss her. But before I could get close enough, I smelled smoke. I realized that was what woke me up. The whole house was up in flames. She was holding her lighter and a bottle of vodka. I tried to pull her out, but she started screaming at me. The last thing I remember her saying was ‘you killed me’. She screamed it over and over and I couldn’t hear anything else. The house started collapsing, and a ceiling beam hit me. It knocked me out.  
“I woke up two days later in the hospital. Dean was asleep in the chair next to my bed and Bobby came in with Adam a few minutes later. I was hooked up to an oxygen machine but it was still hard to breathe. They wouldn’t tell me until hours later that Ruby died in the fire. The state checked me in here as soon as the hospital cleared me to go.”  
Castiel blinked twice, blue eyes wide. Sam is trembling, but he draws back when Castiel tries to touch his arm.  
“She could’ve killed me. She almost did. She makes me so angry. But I still miss her. She ruined my life and she’s gone, but… I still love her.”  
Sam falls silent, and Castiel finally manages to take his hand. They sit for a moment before Sam dissolves into tears, his shoulders shaking. Castiel squeezes his hand tighter, helping him hold to the little shred of light he has.  
\------------------------------------------------------  
_And after so much contained anger_  
_With tears I have not dropped_  
_Somewhere along the way I’ve lost who I am_  
_In a place I’ve all but forgot._  



	4. Lost Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long, guys, but I've been busy. Another short chapter, I know, and I'm sorry, but I think the next chapter will be longer!

_Words left unsaid spoil quickly_  
_My hands are restless, full of gestures_  
_I had prepared and made perfect_  
_While revealing my feelings to you_  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------  
“I guess I don’t understand,” Bobby mutters, digging through a toolbox for a wrench. “You’re saying you want to go back to school?”  
“No.” Dean straightens up and wipes his greasy hands on an equally greasy towel. “I’m saying I want to get my GED. And start taking classes at the community college next fall. And you can’t stop me, I already went to the high school and talked to them about my transcripts.”  
“I don’t want to stop you, boy.” Bobby walks over with the wrench and drags Dean into a hug. “I’m proud. Real proud. But how’s it going to work? You dropped out January your senior year, before you were even eighteen. It’s been four years. Do they even still have your files?”  
“Yeah. Somewhere. They’re looking for me. I only have to take a couple tests to get enough credits for my GED.”  
“Does Sam know?”  
“Not yet,” Dean says, scuffing the toe of his boot on the floor, “I want it to be a surprise.”  
Bobby smiles. “Well good for you. I’m glad you’re doing this.”  
“Doing what?” A voice says from the doorway. Dean’s smile falls and a knot twists in his stomach before he even looks. His entire body feels like lead, but he manages to turn toward the door. A million things fly through his mind, and his hands tighten around the wrench. His heart speeds up and his mouth works soundlessly until the man in the doorway takes a step forward.  
“Where… what the hell have you been doing? I mean, where… where were you? We looked for you, I… I- I missed you, I-”  
I cried for you. The words don’t quite make it out of Dean’s mouth. He can’t say them. They hurt too much.  
“I had things to do,” John Winchester says. “I told you to let me go.”  
\------------------------------------------------------------  
_This mind bears many fruits_  
_I wish I could pluck them delicately_  
_Instead of this clumsy silence_  
_And flare-up of emotion_  
\----------------------------------------------------------------  
“Let you go?” Dean repeats dumbly. The entire garage is dead silent. Bobby looks unsure if he should beat John with a crowbar or prepare to restrain Dean.  
“Yes.” John shifts his weight, seemingly at ease.  
Dean wants to take a deep breath and calm down, but every time he inhales, anger floods his veins. He wants to listen to why John left, but all he can hear is his heartbeat roaring in his ears. He swallows hard, hands shaking, and finally the rage bubbles over. He drops the wrench with a clatter and lunges forward, managing to swing his fist into John’s cheek and lift his knee into his gut before Bobby drags him back.  
“How the hell was I supposed to let you go? You were my _father_!” Dean screams, straining against Bobby’s hold on him. John is on the floor, gasping for breath even as Dean struggles to attack him again. “You don’t know what you did to this family! You tore us apart, you broke us!”  
“I told you to-”  
“We couldn’t! You just left, no explanation, no _nothing_! It’s been years, four fucking years!” Dean’s face is red and his cheeks are wet with tears. His breathing is harsh and he wants to stop yelling, but he can’t. Bobby loosens his grip just enough for Dean to breathe easier. “I looked for you for months, and I called you every day. I begged you to come home. We all missed you. We needed you. _I_ needed you. And you destroyed me.”  
As John manages to stand, Dean dissolves in tears. Bobby releases him, but keeps a reassuring hand on his arm.  
“Your boys needed you, John, and you weren’t there. You have no idea what you’ve done.”  
“I told them-”  
“You can’t tell kids that, you asshole!”  
John looks taken aback. “You have no children, so what do you know about parenting?”  
“More than you,” Bobby growls.  
“Dean was seventeen. He was not a child.”  
“Sam was. He was thirteen. And both of them needed a father. They were too young to be dropped on their asses like that.”  
“You have no right to talk about my sons like that, Robert.”  
“And you have no right to call them yours.”  
“Stop it, both of you!” Dean screams, all but forgotten where he stands. Bobby immediately turns his attention to the young man, grabbing his shoulders to make sure he’s alright. John just sighs.  
“Dean, I’m glad you won’t stand for this bullshit either.”  
“Shut up!”Dean shoves Bobby’s hands away and stalks over to the workbench to grab his keys. He walks past John, purposely slamming their shoulders together to knock his father off balance. He pauses in the doorway, roughly wiping the tears from his cheeks. He points at Bobby and levels John with a glare to kill the devil. “Bobby has been more of a father to me than you ever were.”  
As Dean runs from the garage, a storm breaks in the sky. Rain pounds down on the glossy black paint of Dean’s impala. He slams the door as he slides in and starts the engine. It roars, and the sound soothes his anger. But anger fading only makes room for sadness. Dean peels out of the driveway, tires squealing at the change from gravel to pavement.  
The black car speeds down the roads, whipping around turns and fishtailing through intersections. Dean doesn’t know where he’s going and he doesn’t care, and eventually he finds himself parked in front of Missouri Carewell Clinics. He sits there staring at the white building, rain being brushed from his view by the windshield wipers, and he tries to understand what brought him here. The engine rumbles and the car shudders every minute or so. Hot tears drip from Dean’s chin. His knuckles are white with his grip on the steering wheel.  
He feels broken and cold and lost. There’s an ache that starts in his chest and spreads through all of him. It’s hard to breathe and his eyes are burning with the effort of crying. The driver’s door opens. A rush of cold November air makes Dean look to see why. A hand touches his cheek, fingers wet with rain water. Dean leans into the contact and lets go of his control with a ragged sob. He meets the gaze of the person who opened his door, and when he sees concern there, he falls apart.  
The patient allows himself to be dragged forward as Dean grabs handfuls of his trenchcoat and buries his face in it. He twines his fingers in Dean’s hand and rubs circles on his back, because all he saw in those green eyes was pain.  
\------------------------------------------  
_But I cannot seem to gather myself_  
_Like so many silken threads_  
_The harder I grasp, the faster they fall_  
_All that’s left is pooling in my chest_  
_And the poetry, you say, is in my eyes_


	5. Forelsket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my loves! I am so so so terribly sorry that it's been so long since I've updated! But, now that the story is set up and you have some story for each of our precious boys, it's about time that the plot started moving along. Ready? Me neither.

_I play a note_  
_I play a song_  
_It echoes down_  
_The empty hall_  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Castiel runs his finger over the shining piano keys with a sigh. They’re cool to the touch. Smooth, comforting. Anna is pacing by the window, one hand pressed to her mouth. Her brother looks morose, absently pressing a black key. The note rings out in silence until Anna speaks abruptly.  
“Castiel, what were you thinking? No, no, clearly, you _weren’t_ ,” she hisses, spinning to face him. He flinches, brow creasing. “There was only a ten minute break between the time your nurse left you and I got here. But you somehow managed to disappear. Then you show up, fifteen minutes late, after letting us search the entire building, and you’re soaking wet and practically dragging some guy who passes out as soon as you get him in your room!”  
_Anna, please, be quiet_ , Castiel signs, casting wary glance at Dean, who is sleeping on the bed a few feet away. He looks back to his sister, pleading her with his eyes. She clenches her jaw, then lets her breath out in a long sigh. Her voice lowers to a loud whisper.  
“Who is he, Castiel? Is he another patient?” Castiel shakes his head, listlessly picking at the hem of his shirt. His hands are trembling. Anna takes them in her own and sits next to him on the piano bench. “I’m sorry, brother. I don’t mean to upset you, it’s just… you scared me. I was worried about you.”  
Castiel leans against her, trying to let her warmth comfort him. She smoothes down his hair and rests her chin on his head. “I love you Castiel. I hate it when you feel this way.” She presses a kiss to his forehead. He sits up straighter, grabbing his notepad from the top of the piano.  
_I learned another song for you, Anna. The one you were humming when you visited last week._  
Anna smiles and rests her head on Castiel’s shoulder while he plays Titanium in the quiet room. She watches his fingers move deftly across the keys and her heart aches for her mother. She thinks of how her mother would play and Castiel would sit on her lap, enraptured by the music. Though all the Miltons were musically talented, Castiel had always shown the most interest and ability. He had often been caught in the parlor, plunking at the keys of their mother’s piano. When he was three, and Anna ten, Charles Milton and his wife Grace had taken Castiel to meet Eleanor Visyak. The pianist agreed that she would teach Castiel to play, just as she had taught his mother. He began seeing Visyak two hours a day for six days a week. After his lessons with Eleanor, Charles and Grace would coach his voice. In four years, Castiel became the greatest musician in the family.  
Anna bites her tongue to keep quiet as Castiel plays. It’s a tragedy and she knows it- a tragedy that someone who could have been so extraordinary had everything torn from him at such a young age. Castiel plays his song twice before Anna pulls away. She gingerly removes her violin from its case and stands to tuck it under her chin.  
Castiel slows his fingers and watches her as she runs her bow over the strings to warm them up. Dean stirs behind him, and he turns to look, but the man doesn’t wake. Tear tracks are dried on his cheeks. Castiel turns away. He knows Anna probably thinks that Dean his mentally unstable, and maybe he is, just a little bit. But who isn’t? He doesn’t belong here, not like Castiel does.  
Anna begins playing a slow, sad tune, one Castiel knows well. He absently matches her tempo, listening more to the footsteps in the hall. Every so often, someone will slow as they pass, but they always move along. The music will follow them through the halls either way. The sun breaks through the clouds just as it dips behind the trees, and the room turns orange. The light is just starting to fade when Castiel hears Dean roll over. He resists the urge to look, but when Anna plays the last note on her violin, a long and melancholy wavering, Dean speaks.  
“That was beautiful.”  
Anna nearly jumps. She quickly masters herself and lowers both the bow and the violin. “Thank you. We learned it together as children.”  
Castiel hears Dean sit up. The bed creaks and blankets rustle. He keeps his head down and his back to the man. Anna delicately returns the violin to its case.  
“Um. Is it too much trouble to ask how I got here?”  
Anna takes a deep breath and folds her arms over her chest, glancing quickly at her little brother. “That’s actually quite a good question. I came to visit Castiel a couple of hours ago and he was nowhere in the building. He appeared not long after, practically dragging you, and both of you soaked to the bone. He tells me he wanted to walk in the rain and when he was out in the garden, he saw you drive in. So he uh… brought you inside.”  
Castiel shifts awkwardly, trying to ignore the negative energy rolling off his sister. He drops his gaze to the piano keys, watching his fingers shake where they hover above them. His breath stutters when he inhales. He can feel Anna struggling to reign in her temper. Of course, Anna has always been Fire. There is always something simmering beneath her surface. Sometimes, Castiel wonders how she makes it through each day, fighting with herself so much.  
“Thanks, Castiel,” Dean murmurs. Castiel’s lips twitch into a quick smile, but he nods instead of facing Dean.  
Anna steps between them and sits on the very end of the bench, effectively blocking Castiel from Dean’s view. “So, Dean-that is your name, right?- how do you know my baby brother?”  
Dean shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I, uh… my little brother is actually here, too. He’s…. he’s just in the other hall. They’re friends, I guess.”  
“Who’s your brother?”  
“Sam. Sam Winchester.”  
“Oh. Did you come to visit him, then?”  
Dean stays silent, green eyes giving nothing away. He isn’t sure how to answer the question. No, he didn’t, but he can’t tell her that, and he doesn’t actually know quite why he came here. Anna signs pointedly, so Dean gives her a forced smile. “Why else, sugar?”  
Anna raises one eyebrow, expression deceivingly blank. “How old are you, Dean? Nineteen, twenty?”  
“Twenty one,” Dean quips grumpily.  
“Right. Don’t call me sugar.”  
Castiel finally sighs loudly in an attempt to ease the tension. Anna responds immediately, pulling her hair over one shoulder and standing gracefully. She holds out her hand to Dean, smiling sweetly.  
“I’m sorry, Dean, but I’d like to speak with my brother alone, so you can go visit your own brother or whatever. It was nice to meet you.”  
Dean eyes her hand warily, but shakes it nonetheless. “Yeah, sure, you too.” He starts for the door, pausing halfway to look at Castiel. His mouth is open like he wants to say something, but when Castiel doesn’t look at him, he bites his tongue and leaves the room. The moment the door closes, Anna huffs angrily.  
“I don’t know what to make of him. He’s polite, I suppose, but he’s so brash at the same time. Is he around here often?”  
Castiel shrugs, lifting his eyes from the piano. _Would you like me to play more for you?_ He signs it quickly, still trembling slightly.  
Anna shakes her head, picking up her violin case and slinging her coat over her arm. “No, I should go home. It’s getting dark. I don’t believe anyone will make it home for Thanksgiving tomorrow, so enjoy yourself, Castiel. I’m sure Ms. Moseley will have a wonderful meal provided.”  
She kisses his cheek quickly and sweeps out of the room with her usual grace, if not in a more hurried manner than usual. Castiel swallows hard and closes his eyes, breathing deep through his nose. Being alone again shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------  
_The sweetened tune_  
_I used to play_  
_Has fallen flat,_  
_Has turned to grey._  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean paces the hall, unwilling to go and see Sam. He doesn’t know what he would tell him. He isn’t sure Sam would want to know about John coming home. He finds himself in the lobby, staring out the window when he hears footsteps behind him. As he turns, Anna looks over and gives him a small nod, never once changing her expression. She strides out the door. He hesitates a moment, then hurries through the halls to room 113. Before he can knock, the door opens.  
Castiel’s blue eyes widen in surprise, scanning Dean’s face before he steps back carefully to let Dean into the room. He picks up the notepad off the piano bench and writes quickly. He hands it to Dean.  
_What are you doing back? I thought you went to see Sam._  
Dean shrugs. “I don’t really know, Cas. I… can we talk?”  
Castiel hesitates, looking towards the clock. He snatches back the notepad. _It’s time for the evening meal. Perhaps you could speak to Sam?_  
Dean shakes his head. “No, I… I’ll just go, then.”  
Castiel catches his arm as he turns, then presses a finger to his lips and smiles subtly. _Follow me_ , he scribbles, and presses the notepad into Dean’s palm. He leads Dean through the halls to an office door, which Dean backs away from.  
“Ms. Moseley? No way, Cas, I’m not breaking into the head honcho’s office!”  
Castiel frowns in confusion, tilting his head to the side and shaking it. He holds Dean in place by his arm, knocking lightly on the wooden door. A muffled voice says something Dean can’t quite make out. A moment later, the door opens. Missouri Moseley blinks, sizing up the two young men standing in front of her. Castiel smiles, face lighting up as soon as he sees her. He signs something quickly. She laughs and steps back to let them inside.  
“Of course you can come in and talk a while! Have you boys eaten yet?”  
Castiel glances at Dean before shaking his head. He steps into the office like he owns it- Dean follows more slowly, still unsure of what exactly is happening. Missouri closes the door behind them and crosses to her desk to pick up her phone.  
“LeeAnn? Hi, sweetie. Oh? Really? That’s wonderful, congratulations! Oh… oh, yes, of course.” She laughs, placing a hand on her chest, eyes sparkling. “I can’t believe I almost forgot already! Would you bring three plates of dinner up? Thank you, LeeAnn, you’re a dear.”  
She hangs up the landline, turns back to the two boys, and holds out her arms. Castiel slots himself into the embrace as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Dean watches apprehensively until Missouri raises an eyebrow at him and Castiel reaches out to drag him into their hug. Dean blinks in surprise, muscles stiffening as he tries to process what’s just happened. Before he can, they break apart and Missouri ushers both young men onto the couch. She sits in a chair across from them.  
“Now Dean,” she says with a smile, “I’d say you was here to talk about Sam, but Castiel says he brought you down. I have to say, I’m curious.”  
Dean doesn’t physically respond aside from a deep breath. “I don’t have a clue. Cas just told me to follow him.” Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Castiel’s fingers twitching out a rhythm in the hair. He watches for a moment, then casts his gaze back to Missouri. “I don’t know why.”  
Castiel’s fingers stop twitching. He sighs heavily and signs to Missouri, who makes a noise of understanding and nods. She looks back at Dean, and the finger twitching resumes.  
“He says you want to tell me about something that happened today. This evening?”  
Dean clears his throat and sits up straighter. He casts an awkward glance at Castiel. “I uh… I don’t do the whole therapy thing, and I don’t need it either.”  
“I am not treating you, Dean, we’re having a conversation. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to say.”  
“Well then I’d rather not say anything.”  
Missouri shrugs. “Alright. LeeAnn hasn’t brought dinner yet, though, so I’ll just keep talking. Feel free to jump in whenever you want, by the way.” Dean doesn’t respond, so she continues. “We can talk about cars, sports, food, music… I don’t know what you enjoy, Dean. Would you maybe tell me about Sam?”  
“Because he’s your patient?”  
“No, child, because he’s your brother. You love him. I know.”  
Dean shifts his weight on the couch, not realizing as his shoulder drops closer to Castiel’s. Castiel, in turn, widens his eyes and scoots to the side. Not once does he lose beat in his imaginary song.  
“Yeah, so? He’s my kid brother. He’s a giant, he’s a nerd, and he’s really smart. What do you want to know?”  
“Whatever you’ll tell me.”  
Dean looks down at the floor, crosses his arms, and shrugs. He stays silent for a few seconds. Castiel watches him in silence, but when Dean glances up, he turns his head. Dean lets his shoulders sag unconsciously, the events of the evening starting to push their way to the front of his mind without permission. He coughs and licks his lips.  
“He’s a good kid, you know. Always has been. We moved around a lot when we were young. Our dad, he… he didn’t like staying in any one place for very long. But even with all the moving, Sam always kept up with his schoolwork. He had straight A’s. I dunno how he did it. Even a couple years back, um…” he trails off, searching for the right words. “I… Sammy was thirteen when our dad ditched us with our uncle. We… we got to the house in the middle of the night, and Bobby had to keep the dogs from chasing us off the property, but he let us in, and Sam and I fell asleep on the couch while he and my dad argued in the kitchen. We woke up in the morning and he was gone. We only had Bobby. And a couple months later, Kate and Adam. Apparently Dad had left her, too. But after he left us we never heard from him again.”  
He’s so tense now that he’s almost shaking. Castiel starts to reach out his hand, then withdraws it and begins beating a more frantic beat against the fabric of his pants. Missouri, in turn, leans forward to offer Dean her hand. He shakes his head.  
“What happened today, Dean?”  
“I… I told Bobby I’m getting my GED. I dropped out of school when we got ditched with him. He never said anything, but I think he was upset I didn’t want to further my education. I’ve been working as a mechanic for four years, and I like it, but… I want to do better. I buried myself so far in engines and grease and tools that I didn’t even notice Sammy getting sick. I can’t help him anymore, that’s why he’s here, but I… I kinda wanted to show Bobby that I’m good too. Sam’s getting help, so I was going to help myself. But when I was telling Bobby, my dad just showed up. Out of nowhere, into the shop, like he owned the place. Like he’d been there all along, like he didn’t fucking _leave_.”  
Dean swallows hard, and his eyes are burning and he hates it, he hates himself for being so weak. Castiel reaches out again, but doesn’t pull away this time. He wraps his hands around both of Dean’s, giving him a small smile of encouragement. Dean looks into his blue eyes until he doesn’t feel so lost, then keeps talking.  
“He just came up like he could be back in my life. I looked for him when he left, I tried really fucking hard, and he didn’t even give me a chance to find him. And today, he expects everything to be normal. I- I was so _mad_ , and I hit him and I... I couldn’t stop hitting him. It just felt so good, but that’s not who I want to be, I don’t want to be the angry drunk who beats his kids and yells and spits in their faces and leaves them with a man they barely even know. I don’t even know the last time I was happy, I can’t remember, but being with Bobby and Sam and Adam, I feel like maybe I might be something close to happy? But Dad shows up and he acts like it’s all okay, like I’m fine, and I just couldn’t do it. I don’t even remember driving here, or.. or Cas, finding me outside, or taking me to his room. I just… I miss Sammy. I want him to be proud of me. Bobby, too, and Adam. I want my dad to be proud, too, and I don’t know why, because I hate him. I do, I hate him. I want him to be proud, but I hate him, and I can’t go back home if he’s there.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------  
_It doesn’t move you_  
_Anymore._  
_I don’t know who_  
_I’m playing for_  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A knock on the door startles all three of them, and Missouri lets out a bit of a nervous laugh as LeeAnn enters the room with three plates of food. “Just over here, darling, thank you. You have a nice night with your fiancée, alright?”  
LeeAnn laughs and thanks her boss. She hands each of them their dinner and walks back out, waving before she closes the door. Missouri turns back to the young men on the couch, quietly taking note of the fact that, though they have releases each other’s hands, they are still sitting close enough for their shoulders to touch. She keeps a secret smile to herself.  
“Dean? This isn’t exactly ordinary, but you could stay here at the Clinic for the night. In fact, why don’t you? Stay for dinner tomorrow, too. It is Thanksgiving, after all. I’ll call Bobby and have him come as well. None of your father, though, I won’t have that man on my property. He’s put you boys through quite enough.”  
Dean looks to Castiel, who nods enthusiastically. He turns back to Missouri slowly, but also nods. “Yeah… I guess I could stay here if it’s alright. But… where?”  
Castiel practically leans onto Dean as he tries to get Missouri’s attention. He signs something excitedly, and she smiles and shakes her head.  
“What did he say?”  
“He has two rooms. You can use one. If you’re alright with that. But I’ll let you boys sort that out later. Right now, let’s eat!”  
Much to Dean’s surprise, the food is good and the meal passes pleasantly. The serious tone of their previous conversation is washed away, overshadowed by Castiel’s mirth. He’s fascinating to watch, Dean discovers. He never makes a sound, but he gestures animatedly with his hands- even if he isn’t signing anything- and his expressions are ever-changing. Dean had pegged the younger man as a reserved and proper person, but throughout the night, he begins to realize that perhaps he had judged their tentative friendship too quickly. Castiel is bursting with life and emotion. Watching him, one word keeps popping into Dean’s mind: Angel.  
Castiel is graceful and quiet and serene and peaceful, but he is also full of excitement and joy and music and feeling. Like an Angel. Dean imagines wings sprouting from the patient’s back, large and black and trembling every time he moves. It’s a ridiculous thought, but Dean finds that it makes him smile.  
Hours later, Dean is walking with Castiel back to his piano room, and Castiel doesn’t have his notepad, but he is signing so excitedly that Dean doesn’t want to interrupt and ask for a charades performance. But Castiel stops on his own. He frowns up at Dean, then taps a finger against his lips, as if he’s thinking very hard. Dean is just about to open his mouth and ask a question when Castiel signs something again.  
“What’s that?”  
Castiel shrugs.  
“Cas, I don’t know sign language. I don’t know what you’re doing when you sign at me over and over. Sorry.”  
Castiel shakes his head with a bemused expression, then shrugs again. He repeats the sign. Then he shrugs. Sign. Shrug. Sign. Shrug.  
“I… you lost me, dude. I’m confused.”  
Castiel sucks in a sharp breath and nods frantically with a wide smile. He makes the sign, points at Dean, and makes the sign again.  
Slowly, understanding starts to spread across Dean’s features. “Confused? Is that the sign for confused?” Castiel nods, so Dean attempts to imitate his actions. “Did I do it?”  
Castiel makes a face and wiggles his hand as if to say ‘almost’. He reaches out to take Dean’s hands and guide him through the motion a few times. Dean repeats it on his own a few minutes later. Castiel immediately claps for him.  
“I got it? I can say when I’m confused now?” Castiel nods. Dean grins. “Cool. Dude, you just taught me sign language.”  
Castiel rolls his eyes. Dean feels like he’d be laughing if he could. As they finish walking to Castiel’s room, Dean makes the sign for confused over and over again. He’s determined to remember it and do it correctly. He wants to show Sam in the morning.  
Dean doesn’t bother turning on the light when they reach room 113, because Castiel has already plugged in a reading lamp on a bedside table. It doesn’t provide much light, but it’s enough to see by as they sit on the edge of the bed, side by side. Castiel grabs his notepad and begins writing, and when he hands it to Dean, he allows their fingers to brush together.  
_I’m proud of you, Dean. I know it can’t have been easy for you to talk to Missouri like you did. I’m sorry if I pushed you into it- that was the opposite of my intentions. However, I enjoyed our night together. I will teach you more signs, if you wish. Being able to tell me you are confused will be helpful, but I believe you could learn much more._  
Dean laughs as he reads the end of the note. “Dude, you’re just trying to con me into spending more time with you. Plus you want to gloat that you know something I don’t.”  
_I know many things you do not, Dean,_ is the next note on the pad. It is quickly followed by _What sign would you like to know next?_  
The hours draw long as Castiel teaches Dean sign after sign after sign, until they are both leaning against the wall, and Dean’s head is resting on Castiel’s shoulder. He says a word, and Castiel signs it. They work on Dean’s signing well into the night, and eventually Castiel notices that Dean’s movements have become sluggish. He smiles and reaches for his music box, careful not to disturb Dean. As the quiet lullaby washes over them, Dean’s hands drop into his lap. His breathing evens out, and he leans more heavily against Castiel.  
In turn, Castiel simply smiles. He rests his cheek against the top of Dean’s head, relishing the intimacy of the contact. It’s the first he’s had in years aside from the odd hug or kiss from his siblings and cousins. Before his eyes grow heavy with sleep, he sits up straighter, holding Dean in place and trying not to wake him. He combs his fingers through Dean’s hair with a gentle touch, trying and failing to count the man’s freckles in the dim light. Eventually, he pulls out his journal and begins to write a new song. In the top corner of the page rest two words, simple and unassuming, but bearing the weight of the world. _For Dean._  
\-------------------------------------------------------  
_My favorite song_  
_For my best friend._  
_It’s all for you-_  
_It’s always been._


End file.
